


Whisper in my ear, the things you wanna feel

by sadtomato



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: First Time, Fondue, M/M, Senate Era, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadtomato/pseuds/sadtomato
Summary: Favs brings Tommy home to Massachusetts for his birthday, and wouldn't you know, there aren't enough beds.





	Whisper in my ear, the things you wanna feel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [insunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/insunshine/gifts).



> Happy Crooked Exchange, insunshine! I love your fics and I hope you like this one. 
> 
> Why yes, the title _is_ from a Goo Goo Dolls song from 1998.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you take Tommy’s things up to your room?” Jon’s mom squeezes him one more time, and he kisses the top of her head. She’d been in the kitchen working on her laptop when they got in, but there was a platter of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on the counter.

“I figured he could take the guest room,” Jon says through a mouthful of cookie crumbs. He opens the refrigerator, pulls out a carton of milk, and takes a swig straight from the carton. 

“Heathen,” Tommy says, laughing. Jon smiles sheepishly, a thin little milk mustache on his upper lip.

“Jonathan Edward,” Jon’s mom warns. Jon wipes his mouth and puts the milk back in the fridge. 

“Sorry, I forgot that I’m back in civilization.” 

“Anyway,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I told you, sweetie, we’re re-doing the guest room. The new furniture won’t be delivered until next week. You two can share, or one of you can sleep on the floor. Go on, go upstairs and get settled.”

Jon flushes at the idea of sharing a bed with Tommy. A guy. He coughs so he can hide his face in his elbow. Tommy rocks back on his heels and raises his eyebrows at Jon expectantly. 

“Yeah, uh. Come on. I’ll show you upstairs.”

\-----

“So this is where the magic happens,” Tommy teases, throwing his duffel bag down on Jon’s bed. Tommy’s immediately comfortable, walking around, touching Jon’s things. 

Jon snorts and tosses his own bag on the floor, trying to remember if his sleeping bag is in the back of his closet or if he’s going to have to go up to the attic. He opens a window, lets in the fresh air, and flops down on his bed. He pulls his Blackberry out of his back pocket and starts reading through the messages he’s gotten since they left DC.

His eyes keep flicking up to Tommy, though, studying all of Jon’s childhood things. Jon’s room in DC is just a bed and a shitty Ikea nightstand, but this one is chock full of mementos.

There are a couple of band posters on the wall opposite Jon’s bed--Dave Matthews, Third Eye Blind, Goo Goo Dolls--and a Sports Illustrated foldout of Anna Kournikova taped over his desk. There’s a corkboard, too, full of photographs of high school friends, concert tickets, and a bumper sticker that says “Jackson for State Representative” from the first campaign Jon ever volunteered for. Tommy focuses on the photographs, nudges a few out of the way so he can look at all the faces, and Jon hopes he doesn’t notice that one face appears more than the rest. 

“You ran track?” Tommy asks, looking at the awards on top of Jon’s dresser. 

“Cross Country.” Jon’s just pretending to read his messages now, keeping one eye on Tommy. He looks good in Jon’s bedroom; he looks good all the time, really, but he looks really good here, like he’s one of Jon’s high school wet dreams come to life. “You played lacrosse, right?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says absently, squatting down to look at the bookshelf that holds Jon’s old books and movies. The top shelf is mostly required reading from high school--A Tale of Two Cities, To Kill a Mockingbird, etc. The second shelf holds a couple of VHS tapes, the ones Jon couldn’t bring himself to throw away even though there’s no VCR in the house anymore. 

“Is this... do you have all the seasons of Dawson’s Creek on VHS?” Tommy asks, sounding delighted, like this is something he’s going to tease Jon about forever. 

“Not all of them,” Jon says, blushing. He’s not about to admit that he had a crush on Dawson. “It’s, it was. It was a 90s thing. And Katie Holmes was really, um, good in it...”

Tommy chuckles and straightens up. “I was partial to Pacey, myself,” he says, biting his lip and looking back down at the bookshelf. “We should watch some later and take a drink every time the dialogue is terrible.”

“I don’t think there’s enough liquor in the house,” Jon says. He gets a flash of Tommy tucked into bed with him, watching TV, teasing Jon like he is now, and it makes him feel hot all over. He coughs and looks back down at his Blackberry.

“The senator is pissed,” Jon says, drawing Tommy’s attention. “About that Iraq thing.”

“Dude, let it go. There’s nothing you can do about it now, so take a weekend off for once.” Tommy walks over to the bed and snatches Jon’s Blackberry out of his hand, then hides it in a desk drawer. “Besides, it’s your birthday, and I was promised an actual non-takeout meal in a restaurant. And cake. I was promised cake.”

\-----

Dinner with Jon’s family and Tommy is surprisingly comfortable, if overly long. His dad insists on taking them to The Melting Pot in the next town over, because it was Jon’s favorite restaurant when he was a kid. The meal takes forever, but Jon’s missed his family (even Andy, who is still a little shit sometimes), and it’s nice to be with them. 

Tommy charms them all, chiming in to add color to Jon’s stories about DC. “He’s being modest,” he says at one point, interrupting Jon’s story about a speech he’d written. “The senator wrote like, two paragraphs, the rest was all Jon’s work.” 

Jon flushes pink, pleased that Tommy noticed his hard work, that his parents look so obviously proud. 

Later, while they’re dipping pieces of fruit in a simmering pot of dark chocolate, Jon’s mom says “Oh, guess who I ran into? Janet O’Rourke’s son, from your cross country team. He’s back living at home for a while.” 

“Who?” Jon says, pretending to be casual, hoping he’s not blushing again. He can hear how high-pitched and strained his voice sounds and he tries to dial it down. “Oh, Eric. Yeah, I sort of remember him.” 

His parents exchange a _look_ , which Jon still finds annoying. “He was all you talked about the summer after you graduated,” his mom says. 

“Ha,” Jon says, too loud, super aware of Tommy a few inches to his left. “Yeah, I guess, that was a long time ago.”

Jon hasn’t thought about Eric in years; his mom is right, though, he definitely had a hero worship thing going on for a while. Eric was the best, really smart, a great athlete, tall and blonde and... just, a really nice guy. Jon spent a lot of time with him that summer, but Eric went to Stanford and Jon stayed in Massachusetts and they lost touch.

“So, Andy,” Tommy says, changing the subject. “What’s this I hear about you moving to L.A.?”

\-----

While Tommy’s showering and getting ready for bed, Jon digs through all the closets and storage nooks in the house, looking for a sleeping bag. Andy finds one for him, but Jon doesn’t realize until he’s unrolling it in his bedroom that a) it’s child-sized and would only cover his lower half, and b) it has Power Rangers on the front.

Jon’s grumbling and rolling it back up when Tommy comes back to his bedroom, shirtless with a towel wrapped low on his hips. Jon gets distracted by the droplets of water clinging to Tommy’s chest before he tears his eyes away. He focuses on folding up the sleeping bag very carefully while Tommy digs through his bag.

“I think my mom gave all the sleeping bags to Goodwill,” Jon says, fiddling with the velcro keeping this one closed. “All the adult-sized ones, anyway.”

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Tommy says, coming over to clap him on the back. He’s still shirtless, but he has a pair of basketball shorts on now. “We can share, it’s all good.” Jon’s not sure if he’s imagining it or if Tommy really leaves his hand on Jon’s back for a second longer than necessary.

“Yeah, no problem,” Jon says, standing up to stretch. “I’m gonna, uh, wash up. Help yourself to whatever, if you want a t-shirt or something.”

“Nah I usually sleep like this,” Tommy says, shrugging. “Unless you want me to...”

“No, no, that’s fine.” Jon stumbles over his words, trying to sound normal, like he’s not newly obsessed with the freckles across Tommy’s shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

Jon goes down the hall to the bathroom he shares with Andy, steps inside, and locks the door behind him. He sinks against it and takes a slow, deep breath. It’s not like they’re... _like that_ , not like there’s anything between them. He just has a squirmy feeling about sharing a bed with him, being so close, so intimate. 

He looks at himself in the mirror while he brushes his teeth, psyches himself up. It’s just Tommy. It will be chill.

\----

“Your family’s great,” Tommy says later, when they’re both tucked in bed. They’re lying on their backs, carefully not touching, but Jon is super aware of Tommy’s arm only an inch or two away from his.

“Yeah, they’re pretty great. I’m lucky, I guess.” 

Tommy’s quiet for a minute, and Jon shifts just a little so he can look at him out of the corner of his eye. Tommy looks younger than he does in the office, wearing a suit and arguing with reporters. 

“Things got kind of weird at dinner, when your mom mentioned that guy.” Tommy’s still staring at the ceiling; Jon watches his throat move as he swallows. He sounds like--he sounds _knowing_ , somehow. It makes Jon feel too hot, his skin tingling.

“Yeah,” Jon admits, when his silence becomes awkward. “We like, hung out a lot for a while, and he was really fun and smart and popular, and just... really nice. They used to tease me about him. Andy called him, uh, my boyfriend.”

“Was he?” Tommy asks, gently, and Jon’s heart hammers in his chest. Maybe if he’d met Eric later, become friends with him in college or just after, he would’ve been able to--

“It’s okay, if he was,” Tommy adds. Jon feels him shifting, glances over to see him turning onto his side to face Jon. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, not quite making eye contact. “My first boyfriend was the star forward on my high school basketball team. Only guy I’ve ever had to stand on my tiptoes to kiss.”

Jon holds his breath, doesn’t move. Tommy’s not--Tommy dates _girls_ , always girls, as far as Jon knows. He’s always thought that if maybe, one day, he meets another guy he likes and wants to date, that Tommy would be someone he could tell, would be okay with it, but he never thought that Tommy might be into guys, too.

Jon finally relaxes, lets out his breath in a long, slow exhale. It’s Tommy. It’s okay to say it out loud.

“He wasn’t. My boyfriend, I mean. Eric.” Jon stumbles over his words, blushing and supremely grateful for the darkness. “I kind of wished he was, though. I don’t know if he was into guys, but, um. I was. I am.”

Tommy nudges Jon with his elbow, and Jon looks over at him to see him grinning. “Awesome,” he says. “Me too. It’s nice having someone to talk to about, like. Bi stuff.”

Jon has to swallow a couple of times and collect himself before he can say, "Yeah, totally. Yeah." He wants to put his face into the pillow or the smooth curve of Tommy's neck. "I guess that’s me, bi. I've never had a boyfriend or anything like that, though."

“Just like, hookups?” Tommy asks, his voice low and curious.

Jon exhales, shaky, and looks over at Tommy. He shakes his head, then elaborates when Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Nothing at all, with guys.”

Tommy’s expression gets a little softer. “That’s okay. Do it on your own terms, you know?”

“It’s just different, for me, with guys,” Jon says, looking back up at the ceiling. He doesn’t talk about stuff like this, not with anyone, but he feels like he’s in as safe a place as any. “Like I’ll see a girl at a bar and think, I want to go home with her. But with guys I only think that way about someone I already know really well.”

“Like Eric,” Tommy says, quiet.

“Yeah.” Jon’s whole body is at attention now, so aware of Tommy being so close, Tommy’s eyes on him, Tommy’s sweet face and his quiet confidence about this. 

“Hmm, that’s cool. I don't pick up dudes in bars much, but sometimes I'll see someone and want to like, touch his chest or bite his thighs. Make him laugh,” Tommy says. He smiles, licks his lips, and adds, “Make him come.”

Jon’s face is on fire, and he’s getting hard, from the attention and the atmosphere as much as talking about sex. They’re so close he can feel Tommy’s breath on his cheek; if they were quiet enough Jon’s sure he could hear Tommy’s heartbeat. He closes his eyes and he can see it, Tommy walking towards him in one of the shitty Georgetown bars they frequent, focus and intense like he gets when he really wants something, leaning into Jon’s space and--

“Is there anyone else?” Tommy asks. He shifts, gets a little closer, but seems to holds himself back. “Anyone now that you feel that way about?” 

Jon feels like his heart is going to pound of his chest. He turns his head to face Tommy and lock eyes with him, and he can see that Tommy is nervous, too. It’s comforting, knowing that-- that this is real. That Jon’s not imagining this energy between them, that it’s safe to say it out loud, even if it’s a little scary.

“Tommy,” he breathes. “Just, just you, but I don’t want to make things weird, if you don’t--”

“I really, really do,” Tommy says, smiling. He leans in, so close, until his lips are just above Jon’s. “I’m gonna kiss you, okay?” 

Jon doesn’t answer, just closes the gap and presses his lips to Tommy’s, soft and tentative. Tommy hums and presses Jon back down against the pillow, hovers over him and kisses him again and again, really gentle and warm. 

Tommy lifts his head after a minute, smiles down at Jon. “Good?”

“Oh my God,” Jon answers, reaching up to lock his arms around Tommy’s neck. “Yes, good, more.” He pulls him back down and kisses him again, dirtier this time, licking into Tommy’s mouth.

Tommy’s accommodating, kissing back like he means it. He bites down on Jon’s bottom lip and then soothes it with a tiny kiss, and it’s so unexpectedly sweet that Jon laughs, loud and happy, and Tommy looks surprised and shushes him, even though he’s laughing too.

“What, am I a bad kisser? Is this terrible for you?” Tommy teases, lifting up to look into Jon’s eyes.

“No way, man, it’s so good,” Jon says earnestly. “Come back. Get over here.” He lifts up the blankets, inviting Tommy closer, and Tommy swings a leg over him eagerly, straddling Jon’s thighs. When he leans down to kiss Jon again, Jon feels Tommy’s dick pressing against his thigh and he suddenly wants _everything_ , wants to get Tommy naked, touch him everywhere, put his mouth on him. 

Tommy’s kissing him again, urgently, like he really _wants_ Jon. When Jon turns his head, panting, to catch a breath, Tommy just moves down to his neck. He scrapes his teeth over Jon’s Adam’s apple, sucks at the delicate skin just below his ear. Jon has a brief moment of clarity, a flash of worry about getting a hickey, but Tommy reaches down and starts fiddling with the drawstring on Jon’s shorts and suddenly nothing else seems important.

“Cool?” Tommy asks, untying the drawstring slowly, looking up at Jon’s face for signs of panic.

Jon lets out a shuddery laugh. “Very, yeah. Very cool.” 

Tommy grins, ducks down to kiss Jon again, and slips his hand under Jon’s basketball shorts. He’s a tease, ignoring Jon’s dick in favor of petting his inner thighs, cupping his balls. All of that plus Tommy’s wrist grazing his dick is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to Jon; he doesn’t know how he’s going to survive anything else. 

“That’s really good,” Jon gasps between kisses. He’d thought being with a guy would be rougher, faster, a race to come, but Tommy’s gentle and teasing, knows just the right way to touch Jon and make him shiver and shake. 

Tommy hums in acknowledgement and takes the opportunity to touch Jon’s dick properly, wraps his long fingers around it and tugs lightly. Jon makes an embarrassingly high-pitched noise and arches up into Tommy’s hand.

“Shh, gotta be quiet,” Tommy reminds him, giving his dick a few firm strokes. “Everyone’s gonna hear you if you’re loud, okay? Gonna know what we’re doing in here.”

Jon ducks his head and bites down on Tommy’s shoulder, just enough to stop him from moaning again. He can’t believe his first time with a guy is in his parents’ house, in his childhood bedroom. In the bed where he had his first terrifying fantasies of kissing Eric in 12th grade, where he got himself off thinking about a strong, broad body over his.

Tommy frowns and pulls his hand free from Jon’s shorts, which makes Jon make another embarrassing noise, muffled by Tommy’s shoulder this time. “Do you have lube?” Tommy asks, sitting up on his knees, staring down at Jon expectantly.

Jon’s sure his eyes are bugging out of his head; Tommy wants to do... things that require lube? That feels advanced gay and Jon feels very intro level.

“Hey, shh,” Tommy says, rubbing Jon’s side. “Just for the handjob, it’ll be better.”

Jon relaxes and nods up at Tommy. “There should be some lotion,” he says, nodding towards the bedside table. Jon is grateful that Tommy doesn’t say anything about the tremble in his voice. He has lube at his apartment in DC, but not here, not in the nightstand that sits under a Red Sox lamp he got when he was 12. 

Tommy leans over Jon to fumble around in the nightstand for lotion, and it gives Jon the chance to really appreciate his chest. It’s nice, pale and defined, not too broad but not scrawny, either. Jon reaches up, curious, and thumbs over a tight pink nipple. Tommy jumps and pulls back a little.

“Sensitive,” he says, shrugging. He holds up a little tube of lotion and scoots backwards until he’s settled lower over Jon’s legs. This time he tugs Jon’s shorts down, lifts them over his erection and tucks them behind his balls. Jon’s exposed and vulnerable and so, so turned on. 

“Tell me if you want anything different,” Tommy says, squeezing a healthy amount of lotion onto one hand. He’s gentle, stroking the length of Jon’s cock with his dry hand first, then wrapping the slicker one around him. Jon’s just staring, looking down at Tommy jacking him off, studying his dick appraisingly, trying to make him feel the best.

“Oh fuck,” Jon says, head falling back to the pillow as soon as Tommy starts stroking him in earnest. “Tommy, fuck. You can’t. You can’t hold it against me if I come really, really fucking fast.”

“Nah, I’ll just take it as a compliment.” Tommy smiles at him, twists his hand and slips the other one up under Jon’s t-shirt. He rucks it up under Jon’s armpits, reaching underneath to pinch his nipples lightly. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, please,” Jon says, head swimming. Normally he doesn’t care about having his nipples touched but Tommy doing it while he’s stroking his dick is amazing. “You can, um. Harder, if you want.”

“God, you’re hot,” Tommy says, pinching Jon’s nipple harder between his thumb and his forefinger. Jon bucks his hips, thrusting up into Tommy’s grip, and makes another undignified sound. 

“Sorry,” he says, biting his lip, trying to stay quiet. 

“Don’t apologize, I like it.” Tommy moves his hand to the bed so he can support himself, lean down, and kiss Jon while he’s jerking him off. It’s so much, Tommy’s slick hand on his cock, focusing in on the head just like Jon does when he jerks off. Tommy on top of him, the weight of him, stubble scratching at Jon’s chin when they kiss. 

Jon starts fucking up into Tommy’s fist when he’s close, and Tommy stops kissing long enough to talk him through it, lips pressed close to Jon’s ear. “Yeah, that’s perfect. You want to come? You need to, I can tell. It’s okay, Jon, I want it. Want to get you off. C’mon, sweetheart, do it, come for me.”

Jon sinks his teeth into Tommy’s shoulder when he comes, to stop himself from shouting; Tommy keeps jacking him off, pulls his orgasm right out of him, doesn’t let up even when Jon is just twitching in his hand, sensitive and spent. He doesn’t stop until Jon whimpers and shrinks away, and then Tommy lets him go, moves his hand up to play with the come on Jon’s stomach. 

“Good thing I pushed your shirt up, I’m sure you have to do like, five hail marys for coming on a Holy Cross t-shirt,” Tommy teases, tracing Jon’s abs with the tip of a finger.

“Seven, I think,” Jon murmurs, breathy and blissed out from coming. 

“C’mere,” Tommy says, even though he’s the one that moves, ducks down again to kiss Jon sweetly. “That was great.”

“You didn’t...” Jon says, still aware of Tommy’s dick pressing against his hip. “Do you want me to, like... do something?”

“Could touch me, if you want,” Tommy offers. He reaches down into his shorts and squeezes his own cock, closing his eyes. 

“Yeah, can I? Do you want to lie down, or like... we could do it like this. You could, uh. Come. On me.” Jon feels inarticulate,wants so many things he’s not sure he can pinpoint just one. 

“Jesus, Favreau,” Tommy says, tipping his head back, exposing his long, pale throat. Jon wants to kiss every inch of it. “Yeah, that’s so fucking hot.”

“Come closer,” Jon says, tugging at the waistband of Tommy’s shorts. He reaches inside, follows Tommy’s arm, and wraps his own fist around Tommy’s dick. It’s different from his own, longer and thinner, but it’s blood hot and slick from the lotion left on Tommy’s hand. Jon’s sure he would be more nervous if he weren’t come drunk and boneless; if it weren’t Tommy, who’s always steady, always there for him.

“Yeah, good,” Tommy says, lifting his fingers and settling his hand over Jon’s. He guides Jon for the first few strokes, showing him how hard he likes it--harder than Jon does, rougher than he was with Jon just a minute ago. “God, Jon. Fuck.”

Jon concentrates, trying to keep up the rhythm Tommy set even when Tommy pulls his hand away. Tommy tugs his own shorts down over Jon’s hand; Jon can really see what he’s doing now, see his own hand on Tommy’s cock. He sees a couple of pearly drops of come at the tip and swipes his thumb over it, spreads the wetness around. He wants to lick them off, wants to look up at Tommy’s face while he does it, wants Tommy’s hand cupping the back of his neck. 

“Fuck, do that again,” Tommy says, hips twitching into Jon’s hand. 

Jon does it, thumbs harder at the head, at the slit that’s leaking for him, and Tommy starts cursing under his breath, muttering a stream of “fuck, yes, shit, that’s good.”

“Gonna come on me?” Jon asks. Tommy nods, looks away from Jon’s hand on his dick for a second to look up at Jon’s face and grin. 

“Yeah, gonna, gonna make a mess of you,” Tommy whispers, low and filthy. Jon’s breathing hard, all of his muscles tense and focused on making Tommy come. He wants to see it, wants to be the one to make it happen. When Tommy comes a few seconds later, all over Jon’s hand, dripping down onto Jon’s stomach, Jon’s hips hitch up helplessly, his dick trying to get hard again.

Jon keeps stroking him through it, like Tommy did for him, until Tommy pushes his hand away gently. He squeezes the last few drops of come out on his own, then bends low to rut against Jon’s stomach a few times, panting into Jon’s shoulder. 

When Tommy’s finally spent, he rolls off to the side, moaning happily. They’re quiet for a minute, catching their breath, Jon reaching for a tissue and dabbing his stomach with it. 

“Thanks, that was... amazing,” Jon finally says, balling up the tissue and throwing it at the trash can. He wants to curl into Tommy’s side, push his face into Tommy’s neck, but he’s not sure what the rules are now. The sex high is wearing off, leaving him worried, hoping he didn’t fuck up his relationship with his best friend.

“Just wait,” Tommy says, reaching over to roll Jon’s shirt down over his stomach. He pats the Holy Cross logo and grins. “When we get back to DC, we’ll try some of the really fun stuff.”

“Yeah?” Jon asks, unable to stop the grin from taking over his face. Tommy wants to do this again; he wants to do _more_ , he wants to do the _really_ fun stuff. Jon gets to try all the things he’s been fantasizing about since he was a teenager, and try them with his best friend, his very favorite person.

Tommy rolls to his side, leans in close, and kisses Jon sweetly. “It’s gonna be great.”


End file.
